


Time and Tide

by Anonymous



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Sitting, Hickeys, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-27
Updated: 2021-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Doctor is back, but Yaz still hurts.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21
Collections: Kink Lucky Dip





	Time and Tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheseusInTheMaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/gifts).



The Doctor acts like nothing happened. It’s only been a week since Ryan and Graham left, and she treats it like their departure wiped out her absence. Clean slate. 

But it doesn’t. Yaz feels the weight of those ten months in her body. Ten months of hoping and grieving, of wishing she had _told her_. The universe deserved the Doctor in it, and Yaz nearly went mad trying to find a way to her and now she’s here and it’s... strange.

It feels like the Doctor is still missing even though she’s right there, and the Doctor is clueless and regrets the time she missed with them, but she experiences time differently, and she can’t fathom how despondent Yaz had been at times, how it lingers like a fault line in the earth.

And it makes Yaz angry. Sometimes she stays in her room so she doesn’t have to see the Doctor and doesn’t have to feel the mixture of longing and disappointment because it messes her about. She _wants_ to enjoy the time she has with her now, doesn’t want to be away from the Doctor any longer than she already was—it just hurts. 

It’s only made worse by the fact that the Doctor hovers. She tries to cheer Yaz up constantly when all Yaz needs is time. But the Doctor doesn’t stay upset, vacillates between momentary puzzlement and endless wonder and excitement, and usually Yaz is charmed. Comforted, even. But not now. The Doctor thinks she can snap Yaz out of it with projects and missions and Yaz just wants to sleep it off and hopes to wake up less angry.

The Doctor seems to figure out that this situation might last more than a few days. “What’s wrong, Yaz?” she asks. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Yaz thinks for a long time, long enough that the Doctor fidgets—well, fidgets more. “You’re back,” Yaz starts. The Doctor nods, looks hopeful. “And I thought I’d never see you again and this all feels... wrong,” she says. The words pour from her. “I can’t explain why it feels wrong, but I can’t pretend nothing happened.”

“I said I was sorry. I offered to fix it. Will you let me fix it?”

For a fleeting second, Yaz considers agreeing. But she can’t make decisions for Ryan and Graham. It wouldn’t be right. She has to sit with the ache. She wants it to go away.

The earnest, pleading look in the Doctor’s eyes makes her reckless.

“You really don’t know?” Yaz asks. She can’t not know. It’s plain as day. Ryan figured it out eventually. Even _Graham_ figured it out. “You really don’t know why I will follow you anywhere even if I’m cross, even if it hurts me?” 

“Don’t know what?” 

Yaz moves closer, takes the Doctor’s hand in hers, and looks at her with all the longing and sadness she has kept at bay for ages. Yaz prays that the Doctor doesn’t try to decode her expression with a string of questions, that she’ll just understand.

“Are you feeling all right?” the Doctor asks.

So much for picking up on human emotion.

“Yes,” Yaz says. “And no. It’s like... my heart hurts around you.” She pauses. “Do you understand?” 

The Doctor furrows her brow. 

“This is impossible,” Yaz says and lets go of the Doctor’s hand.

“Please, Yaz. Talk to me.”

The continued lack of the Doctor’s chipper, bouncy demeanor stops Yaz from walking away.

She doesn’t have the right words. She didn’t think she’d have the chance to say them. “Can I show you instead?” Yaz asks.

“Yes, please,” the Doctor says and she seems relieved down to her bones, at least until Yaz launches herself forward, taking the Doctor’s face in both hands and kissing her firmly enough to not be misconstrued. 

The Doctor nearly falls over. Her mouth slackens. Yaz lets her go and the Doctor regains her footing. She is flushed, but Yaz can’t read her expression. 

“Did I just ruin everything?” Yaz asks. She wonders when she became so unsure. She used to know what her life was, had a clue what she was doing. But that was before she met an alien and traveled the galaxy and fell in love. “Do you get it now?”

Yaz feels the weight on her chest relieve by half when the Doctor gets control of her face again and grins. “I get it now, thank you.” Her bubbly tone has returned. “In fact, I think you should do that again.”

Yaz gives her a smile of her own and takes two handfuls of her coat lapels, backs her against the wall. She leans in and crushes their mouths together, presses her body flush against the Doctor. Yaz licks into the Doctor’s mouth. She’s desperate to get closer, to do the things she’s wanted to do for so long. Yaz moves her lips down to the Doctor’s neck and presses open-mouthed kisses against her skin.

“Oh, Yaz, that’s...” The Doctor squirms. “That’s very nice.”

Yaz fits her thigh between the Doctor’s. That gets an even better response, one that makes Yaz dizzy with need. The Doctor yelps, hands gripping Yaz’s waist, and Yaz pushes her thigh tighter against the Doctor. She presses her mouth to the Doctor’s again and swallows her moan.

Yaz slides her hands under the edges of the Doctor’s braces. “Can I?” she asks and backs away just enough to look the Doctor in the eye.

“Yes, yes. Please,” the Doctor says and she’s smiling again. She looks excited because of course she does. Yaz is still surprised by the Doctor’s delight sometimes. It’s infectious. 

Yaz pushes the Doctor’s braces off her shoulders and draws up her shirts until they bunch against her neck and she can’t wait to touch her. It’s near overwhelming how much she wants her. Her lips close around one of the Doctor’s nipples and her body jumps like she’s been electrocuted.

“That’s-that’s wonderful, Yaz,” she says, squirming again. “I haven’t yet taken this body for a spin, as it were.” She takes a breath. “With another person, I mean. I did a bit on my own. Prison was quite boring, and the imagination ran wild at times. You featured heavily, if you don’t mind my saying-“

Yaz twitches between her thighs, and she huffs out an involuntary breath. “Not sure I can handle hearing about that right now.” Of course the Doctor can hold entire conversations at a time like this. There’s never a time she can’t, apparently, but Yaz might perish if she thinks about the Doctor touching herself while thinking of her and that won’t do them any good. 

“Well it’s brilliant is all I meant.”

Yaz laves her tongue over the Doctor’s nipples, one then the other, until the Doctor shakes. “It’s even better than that,” Yaz says. “Just getting started.”

“Right. Better. Not sure how that can be true, but I trust-“

Yaz slips her hand inside the Doctor’s trousers, her hand resting over her knickers, one finger pressing against her clit. The Doctor makes a sound that at any other time would be interpreted as distress. Yaz checks just in case.

“You all right?”

The Doctor’s head is tipped back. She’s gasping for breath. “Never better.”

Yaz laughs lightly and moves her finger against the Doctor through the fabric, leans down and sucks a nipple into her mouth. The Doctor practically vibrates against her. Yaz feels a surge of heat between her thighs.

“D’you want more?” Yaz asks. She really, really wants to give the Doctor more. The Doctor nods enthusiastically. 

Yaz pushes her hand beneath the Doctor’s waistband and slides through her slick heat, and a string of moans fall from the Doctor’s mouth, each one ratcheting up Yaz’s need to new heights, and she feels an overwhelming need to leave her mark on the Doctor’s skin.

She doesn’t ask, just sucks at the patch of skin above the Doctor’s right breast, and the Doctor breathes in like a hiss above her. Her fingers move more firmly over the Doctor’s clit and the hiss turns into a shuddering breath, and Yaz backs her face away to observe the bruise as it darkens. _April._

Yaz would be lying if she said she wasn’t taking out a piece of her anger on the Doctor’s skin, using more pressure than she normally would. The Doctor had appeared after ten months as if nothing had happened, had missed them while she was gone, but they had _grieved_ her.

She wants to give her another mark to match. She checks the Doctor’s expression to find that she is openly needy, trusting, and Yaz marks her again. _May._

Yaz sucks at the skin between her breasts, leaving two quick bruises blooming in her wake. _June. July._ The Doctor’s back bows, pushing into Yaz’s mouth, into her hand, and she’s absolutely babbling above her.

“Please,” the Doctor begs. “Please, Yaz.”

Yaz wants everything at once. She drops to her knees and the Doctor helps push her trousers and knickers down, getting in the way more than she’s helping. 

Yaz teases her thumb between the Doctor’s legs, sliding through her wetness and making her hum with pleasure, and she presses her mouth against the Doctor’s hipbone with vicious suction, lets her teeth scrape against the Doctor’s skin. _August._ She’s not afraid to make it hurt. Maybe she wants it to hurt. 

Before moving to the other side, she dips her tongue between the Doctor’s thighs, quick fleeting licks, a swirl for good measure, and the Doctor’s knees wobble, her moan forced from her like a cough. 

“Oh, please,” she says. Her voice is shaking, and it makes heat pool between Yaz’s thighs.

Yaz smiles to herself and latches onto her other hipbone. _September._ The Doctor’s hips thrust forward. She slips her fingers inside the Doctor and gets a whimper in return, and the Doctor is dripping wet and hot like the sun. Yaz revels in the feel of her. She goes for the Doctor’s inner thighs, curling her fingers and sucking a line of bruises like a trail of stepping stones up to her cunt. _October. November. December._

When she gets to the last one on the Doctor’s upper thigh, she latches on hard enough to make the Doctor cry out, digs her fingernails into the Doctor’s flanks as she holds her steady. _January._ She places a kiss over the bruise, leans her cheek against the Doctor’s thigh and catches her breath. 

The Doctor is a gasping, trembling mess with her fingers tangled in Yaz’s hair, and Yaz finally allows her some mercy. She laps at the Doctor’s clit as the Doctor moans, holding nothing back because she never does. Yaz flutters her tongue, and the Doctor’s moans go up an octave. Yaz feels that right between her thighs like a touch and she clenches, eager. She fights the urge to shove her hand inside her own trousers to mimic the movements of her tongue, to feel what the Doctor feels.

Yaz sucks at her with increasing pressure, her lips wet and hot with the Doctor’s slickness, pressing her face closer, and she thrusts her fingers fast inside the Doctor until she shakes apart, crying out like she’s been wounded, and Yaz has to pin her shoulders and free hand against the Doctor to keep her upright as her legs give out.

“Doctor?” Yaz asks. She is breathless but pleased with herself.

“Yaz,” the Doctor says, and Yaz feels her heart squeeze at how softly the Doctor says her name. 

Yaz guides her down the wall and manages to arrange her on her back on the floor, trousers still at her knees because Yaz can’t quite manage to drag them up a very boneless Doctor. The Doctor has a sleepy, hazy look on her face. She surveys her handiwork along the Doctor’s lower half, bright purple markings like mishapen polka dots. She traces them with her fingers, recalls the taste of the Doctor’s skin against her mouth. Her blood thrums.

“Can I do something for you?” the Doctor asks, and Yaz nearly laughs at how worn out the Doctor sounds. “‘Cause I’d like to. Very much.”

“I can take care of it,” Yaz says.

“Ooh, can I watch? I’d quite like to see that.” The Doctor lifts her head weakly, but she looks rather enthused at the prospect.

Yaz is throbbing with need and who is she to deny the Doctor’s wishes?

“All right,” she says and stands to remove her trousers. The Doctor smooths a hand along her ankle and looks at her like she is truly special. Yaz believes her when she says it.

She doesn’t bother removing her shirt. She’s desperate, aching, so she pushes the Doctor’s shirts up and straddles her stomach above her navel. 

“You’re all slick, Yaz,” the Doctor says like it’s a pleasant revelation.

Yaz moves her hips and presses gently against the Doctor’s stomach, feels little shocks of pleasure. The Doctor feels good under her. “Yeah, you were too.”

The Doctor cranes her neck. “I can’t see.”

Yaz rolls her eyes and shuffles forward on her knees, stopping just as her thighs graze the underside of the Doctor’s breasts. 

“Better?” Yaz asks. She lifts up a bit on her knees to make sure the Doctor can see and she rubs at her clit, little breathy gasps coming from between her parted lips. She would feel exposed with anyone else, but the Doctor’s enthusiasm is genuine and she really, really needs to handle this.

“Yes, thank you.” The Doctor rests an arm behind her head to give her more height. All of the Doctor’s focus is on her: the hand between her thighs, her face, the Doctor even pushes Yaz’s shirt up and brushes gentle fingers over her breasts. Yaz exhales in shaky breaths. “Look at you, Yaz. You’re a marvel.” 

Yaz rocks her hips against her hand and heat races along her skin. She’s never done this with anyone, has always been too embarrassed, but the Doctor’s expression is a mixture of raw desire and wonder and Yaz couldn’t feel embarrassed if she tried. Her brows draw together as her hips move faster. 

“I have the best idea,” the Doctor says in the tone she uses when she’s moving dials on the TARDIS. She pats Yaz on the bottom. “Lift up for us now.”

Yaz goes up fully on her knees and the Doctor slides down until Yaz is hovering over her face. She pulls Yaz to her, pushing her tongue inside her, and Yaz thinks her heart might explode, it’s racing so fast. 

Her thighs shake on either side of the Doctor’s head as the Doctor fucks her with her tongue with more enthusiasm than anyone else Yaz has been with before and makes noises between Yaz’s thighs like she’s made a great discovery. Yaz’s nerves are buzzing. Sweat forms on her brow and chest, and the Doctor keeps it up, her nose bumping into Yaz’s clit. Yaz gasps, harsh and loud. 

She can’t make her mouth form the words to beg, can’t move her hips because the Doctor is holding her thighs tight like she’s afraid Yaz will float away. She balls her hands into fists on her thighs and takes what the Doctor gives her, tongue fluttering along her clit fast enough to make her tremble and whimper. 

Yaz swears she can hear the Doctor speaking between her thighs like a rolling commentary, but she’s on fire, can’t hear anything but her own frantic breath, and when the Doctor closes her lips around Yaz’s clit, Yaz comes hard, desperate moans driven from her as she pulses against the Doctor’s mouth. 

The Doctor hums against her like she’s pleased and she would probably compliment Yaz if her mouth was free but she keeps sucking, finds a way to snake her hand behind and under Yaz to press her fingers inside. The angle is awkward, but tingling warmth spreads up the back of Yaz’s thighs just the same, concentrates between her legs again, and she keens. She shakes through another orgasm, panting, sweating, clenching around the Doctor’s fingers.

“Doctor,” she gasps when she gets too sensitive. Her muscles feel full of lead. “I need to come down.”

“Right. Sorry.” The Doctor releases her grip on Yaz’s thighs. Yaz collapses to one side and pants for air. “I am sorry, you know. Truly.”

Yaz swallows before she sighs. “I know. I shouldn’t be angry. It’s not your fault.”

The Doctor reaches for Yaz’s hand. She’s quiet for once. Yaz doesn’t mind it.

“Did you want to tell me, before?” the Doctor asks. “Before I went missing.”

“I planned to, yeah. Hadn’t worked up the nerve though.”

“Well I’m glad you did now,” the Doctor says and gives Yaz’s hand a squeeze. “Now, how do you feel about waffles? I could do with some waffles.”

Yaz nearly laughs at the absurdity of being cross with the Doctor one minute, riding her face the next, only to have it all end in breakfast. But that’s life with the Doctor. Expect the unexpected. Yaz wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
